


Hurting

by KellynKupcake



Series: Reflections [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Brotherly Love, Drunk John, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide Attempt, but like in a drunk dramatic way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellynKupcake/pseuds/KellynKupcake
Summary: John returns to the Van der Linde gang after months of going it alone. He didn't expect a warm welcome, but struggles with his icy reception all the same.Part 4 in the Reflections series. These stories are intended to be read in order but can also be read as standalones.





	Hurting

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning for Attempted Suicide in this story. But it's more of a dramatic power move than an actual attempt. I don't mean to diminish the feelings of those that have or are struggling with similar feelings.

John swayed, gravity pulling his weight down towards the rocky ground before he could rightly stop it. His ass hit the ground hard, eliciting a groan from his inebriated form as he struggled to not topple completely.

He took another swig of whiskey, eyes closed as he threw his head back and downed a large mouthful. He knew he should stop soon, having already drank half a bottle. But if he was being honest, he couldn’t think of a reason to.

It had been three long weeks since he had returned to the Van der Linde Gang. Having wondered aimlessly for months after his tryst at the saloon in Valentine, watching, waiting, and listening. He had finally caught wind of them. One sentence overheard in a crowded saloon; the only information he needed to track them down. Or at least find the general area that they had been staying in.

He had waited just outside town, hoping and praying every day that he would catch sight of someone, anyone that he knew. He was desperate to return home. Cold, alone and malnourished. He knew he had made the biggest mistake of his life. He had left his family over an issue that now seemed so distant and trivial. All he wanted was his life back. The only life he had ever really known.

It took two weeks but it finally happened. He caught wind of an old man making a fool of himself in the saloon. He knew without question that man would be Uncle. 

He had located him and approached sheepishly, almost boyish in his mannerisms as he made himself known. There had been a moment of mutual silence between them where John felt as though perhaps he had made a mistake before Uncle’s face had broken in to a grin. He had embraced him heartily, asking in no uncertain terms where the hell the younger man had been all this time.

John didn’t have an answer for him. He had been everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Everything and nothing happening to him along the way. He had instead pushed the questions aside, making it known that he was sorry and he wanted to come home.

Uncle had not hesitated to show him back to the camp. John wondered if he was overly confident or just stupid. For all he knew, John could have been a reformed Bounty Hunter or a Pinkerton spy. He didn’t stop to point that out, showing only extreme gratitude for the fact that the man had welcomed him back at all. Judging by the reaction he had received upon his return, most of the other gang members wouldn’t have been so willing.

Arthur was the worst by far, his only reaction to John’s return being an eye roll and steely silence. It had been days before he even acknowledged John’s presence and when he did it was with a heavy handed punch to the face.

John had supposed at the time that he deserved it. The force of the assault knocking him out cold momentarily. He had sat up to find the crowd that had formed around them before that point had dissipated and no one had bothered to check if he was alright.

He had wondered sincerely how much more he could take as he had slithered back to his borrowed bedroll on the outskirts of camp. 

He remembered clearly in that moment why he had left. He’d looked around the camp with sad eyes at all the people that claimed to have missed him and yet never once thought about trying to look for him. All the people that had just watched him get his lights punched out and walked away without a word. The realization had stung more than the black eye.

Abigail’s reaction had hurt in its own way. Although not as much as a punch to the face. She had glared at him, her face contorting to convey a level of hatred he hadn’t known possible. It pained him to look at her. Her silence overwhelming. His own heart fluttered at the sight of her and yet he knew that if she ever had loved him previously, that love was all but gone now. He had blown it, he was sure.

In many ways it was like he had never returned. A thin and scratchy mattress his only buffer between himself and the solid ground he had been sleeping on for months. He still had no shelter to protect him from the weather. He hadn’t expected a hand out when he returned, but he had at least hoped he would have been afforded the opportunity to run a job with someone by this point, making enough to replace at least some of his belongings.

He was thankful beyond words for Tilly’s kind nature when they had been hit by a storm the week before. She had taken pity on him, inviting him inside the tent she shared with the other women during the worst of the weather. He had thanked them profusely for allowing him to sit quietly in the corner, not foolish enough to run his mouth about the fact that they made sure he was good and drenched before inviting him inside. He supposed that was on behalf of Abigail and he knew he deserved it. They were her friends and they had probably taken better care of her over the last year than he could have hoped to even if he hadn’t left.

He was never good enough for her. He pondered now, blurred eyes following the running current of the river in front of him as he swung his whiskey bottle around loosely in his calloused hands.

He was just greasy little Johnny Marston. The orphan with the big head full of nothing. The unappealing twig of a man compared to his brother in arms Arthur ‘tree trunk’ Morgan. A man built like a brick house that towered over him at only one inch taller.

He wasn’t sure why exactly Abigail seemed to desire the world. But he couldn’t deny that he wanted nothing more than to give it to her. She liked the finer things in life and he honestly had no idea how she had come to the conclusion that she deserved them after joining the gang as a prostitute back in 94. All he knew was that he couldn’t give them to her and for that, he would never be the man she needed, never mind wanted.

He sighed aloud, stretching out his arms and resting them on his knees before slowly lowering his heavy head on to one of them. He sat like that for a long while, staring absently at the ground as it slipped in and out of focus and seemed to buzz around him. His heart had been broken for as long as he could remember. He didn’t quite understand why it chose right now it hurt more than usual.

~

Arthur grumbled to himself as he made his way towards the river. His boots slipping on the loose rocks and almost sending him tumbling down the hill. He righted his step, straightening his jacket and turning quickly to check if anyone had seen. They hadn’t.

He had been tasked with going to look for John and frankly he would rather go bear hunting with Hosea. Abigail had taken note of him slinking off in this direction hours before, drink in hand and even though she made out like she had sent him to check for the good of the gang, he knew it was personal for her. She still cared for the man, despite his leaving her for all that time.

Arthur wondered as he walked if things between himself and John would truly ever recover. He supposed it depended a lot on whether or not Abigail chose to forgive him. John had not left Arthur in a romantic sense, so if Abigail could forgive him, he supposed he would have no choice but to follow suit eventually.

Reading the note John had left had cut him deeply. Of course he understood John’s feelings of betrayal where Abigail was concerned and Arthur himself was the one to tell him it was okay to leave her. But he hadn’t meant it in the way John had obviously taken it. Over 10 years of friendship and brotherhood thrown away over a Goddamn woman. He was livid.

John never was the smartest kid. Too dumb as it turned out to even see how loved he was by those he left behind at camp. They had mourned him when he left, Hosea taking it particularly hard. But they had also welcomed him back with open arms despite the hurt he had caused them. Now here he was taking advantage of their kindness by sneaking camp whiskey and running off on his chores.

Arthur spotted John up ahead and took a moment to be thankful the fool wasn’t dead. Not that he felt he could really, truly care at this moment. It was more the effort he would have to put in to looking sad as he dragged him back up the hill to camp.

He slowed his pace as he approached, eyeing the whiskey bottle held loosely in the other man’s hand. He stopped a few feet away, taking in his whole appearance.

John wiped his face on his sleeve, head lolling and body swaying unsteadily as he struggled to stay conscious. It wasn’t just the whiskey that had him unsteady. He hadn’t slept right since he came home. He couldn’t seem to shake the underlying feeling of danger that sleeping outside of shelter afforded him. Even in the wilderness by his lonesome it wasn’t as bad as it had been since he returned. He supposed deep down he was more worried about someone slitting his throat as he slept than being eaten by a mountain lion.

Arthur sighed, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he watched the other man wipe at his eyes. He had intended to check he was alive and return to camp, conscience clear with the job finished. But as he stood watching a man so clearly on the edge of breakdown he decided he couldn’t rightly walk away without at least trying to intervene. He hated himself for that.

“Marston.” He said simply, making the other man jump. He looked up, bloodshot eyes half lidded and glazed as he tried to blink the other man in to focus.

“What?” He snapped after a moment of silence. “What you damn well want Arthur?” John shouted, frustrated by the silence and embarrassed to be caught moping at all let alone by Arthur. He had been the meanest by far these last three weeks. He wasn’t sure he could take any more berating.

“Nothin’, just checkin’ you’re okay s’all.” Arthur replied defensively. He was frustrated to find did care and having John throw it back at him like that was rage inducing. “But I’ll leave you be.” He retorted, turning on his heel before John called out to stop him.

“Wait.” The younger man called, watching sadly as the other man reluctantly turned back to him, arms folded. 

“What?” Arthur asked gruffly. John flinched at the tone. He didn’t mean to start something. Not today.

“Sorry.” John said quietly, breaking eye contact and looking back down towards his feet.

Arthur frowned, the kid had hardly ever apologized for anything in his life. He was stubborn and arrogant, even when he knew he was wrong he was hard pressed to get him to admit it. 

He wasn’t really a kid anymore. Arthur thought to himself as he eyed the sorry state of the man in front of him. That’s what he was really. A man. He had grown so much from the frightened yet conflictingly confident child that had joined the gang at just 12 years old. Although sometimes Arthur admitted he had a hard time seeing it. John was his little brother at heart and as mad as he was at him for leaving, he didn’t like seeing him in pain either.

“What’s got you in such a sorry state?” He asked, arms unfolding and moving to his hips.

John continued to look down, unsure what he really had to say or why he had stopped the other man from leaving. He knew Arthur didn’t really care, but he supposed he just needed to pretend for a second that he did. 

That someone did.

“Just... thinkin’.” John answered softly, aware his answer was pathetic.

“Looks like you’re just drinkin’.” Arthur replied, stifling a chuckle at his own joke. Not the time or place, he recognized. 

John huffed, feeling deflated. He was struggling with so much in that moment and here Arthur was making jokes. He knew he looked the fool and he felt it too. But in this moment he needed someone to recognize his pain. To take him seriously and keep him grounded as his mind spiralled further out of control.

“Please.” John said softly, not a question but a statement. “Please just give me this one.” He whispered, head falling back to his arm as he sighed long and loud. 

Arthur frowned, suddenly feeling uneasy as he looked upon the man before him. His demeanour was different from usual. His slumped shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world on them and for a moment Arthur put himself in the other man’s boots. Really stopping to think about how the other must be feeling.

He felt guilty when he took the time to think about it like that. He knew in his heart John was suffering. Probably had been the entire time he was gone too. Even if he was too proud to ever admit it.

John made to move, stopping for a second to try in vain to keep his head from spinning. He swallowed hard, vomit threatening to bubble up and out as his blood began to pump faster with his movement. He stood unsteadily, grip tightening on his drink as he took a shaky step forward.

“What are you doin’.” Arthur asked with a sigh, lips pursing as he watched in mild amusement.

“Gonna go for a swim.” John answered dramatically, gesturing towards the river as he marched forwards not at all in a straight line.

“You can’t swim.” Arthur said simply, making the other nod.

“Maybe that’s the point!” John shouted, throwing his arms up in an exaggerated shrug as he stopped at the water’s edge. Arthur sniffed, a small laugh escaping only through his nose as he turned away from scene in front of him.

“Well alright then.” He said loudly as he began to walk away, not buying in to the melodramatic mess that was John Marston in this moment. 

He heard the other man stop as he ascended the hill back towards the camp site. He had done his duty, making sure the other man was alive. It wasn’t his job to keep him alive. That was a job for his woman.

~

“John Marston what are you doin’?” Abigail shouted as she stomped towards him, having made her way down the mountain surprisingly fast after Arthur’s departure. John supposed the other man had forced her down here. Perhaps he did care a little.

“Swimmin’.” John shouted back, glaring at the water lapping his calves as he rocked on the spot. He hadn’t moved very far since Arthur left. His dramatic gesture had been somewhat hindered by the freezing temperature of the water.

“We both know you can’t swim. Stop your crap and come back out here!” She yelled, reaching the water’s edge and leaning forwards to grab at his arm. He pulled it away, he was just out of reach for her unless she wanted to get her boots wet.

“This’s the most you’ve spoke t’me since I got back.” He slurred, turning to look her up and down. His heart sank deeper in to his chest as he registered how beautiful she was. Perhaps exaggerated by the drink just a little. But he was always sure she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Stop this now!” Abigail growled, trying her best to sound menacing to a man that towered over her. “You’re bein’ a fool. Me not conversin’ with you’ isn’t worth your life.” She said, quieter. John shook his head in reply, eyes closed as leaving them open made him dizzy.

“It is to me.” He said sadly, taking a few more steps forward. If it wasn’t for the liquor he would have felt her demeanour change. Actual fear stiffening her body as she watched him go where she could not rightfully follow.

“John.” She said simply, unsure how to continue. She hadn’t been taking him seriously until this moment, but as she watched him sway unsteadily on the spot she thought perhaps she should listen to him.

“I don’t have nothin’ to live for!” He lamented. “Ain’t no one love me! Ain’t no one gonna miss me!” He shouted dramatically, throwing his half empty bottle in front of him and watching it slowly sink.

Abigail sighed, rolling her eyes as she watched him trudge deeper in to the water.

“Stop acting the fool!” She shouted back, hands on her hips. “Don’t you make me come in there after you! You know I can’t swim neither, you’ll get us both killed!”

John shrugged in an exaggerated manner, turning back to look at her as the cool water lapped his thighs.

“Don’t follow then!” He slurred. “Go live your life without me! You n’ Jack. Both perfectly happy before I walked back in your lives and ruined everythin’.” He said, softer. He swayed unsteadily, the soft current of the water almost enough to knock over his inebriated body.

“John.” Abigail said firmly, braving the water and taking a few steps forward. “Come outta there.” She said quieter, but just as firm. “Lotsa’ folks missed you..” She paused, feeling uncomfortable. She never was one for being emotional. “You’re just bein’ a drunken idiot.” She spat, feeling slightly better for having insulted him. “But that don’t mean anyone wants you to die.” She sighed. 

John stayed silent, watching the water rush passed him and concentrating on keeping his footing.

“Come on out here.” Abigail demanded again, letting the water rush over her boots. “I swear John Marston if you die I’ll kill you.” She yelled, cocking a hip as she beckoned him closer.

John snickered at her choice of wording. She never was one for grasping the concept of irony. 

“I ain’t bout to burden you with my presence.” He said quietly, barely audible over the rushing of the water. “I ain’t fit for livin’ the outlaw life on my own. I weren’t good at it. Some weeks I just didn’t eat. I got shot at. I lost my horse.” He lamented, arms gesturing at nothing in particular. “Ain’t no one wants me here.” He said weakly. “What choice do I got?” He asked, looking at her in earnest. He didn’t really expect her to answer. She was done with him. 

Abigail growled in frustration, clenching her fists and she began wading in to the water after him. She stumbled slightly, correcting herself as he rushed back to her, genuinely scared for her safety. 

“Stop.” He yelled as she continued towards him. “Stop, don’t follow me.”

“I swear John Marston!” She warned, growing ever closer, her skirt drenched as she reached waist high water that only touched his thighs. John rushed to her, grabbing her arm to steady her lest she fall and get caught by the current.

“I’m not worth you dyin.’” He said softly, wrapping one arm around her waist and guiding her back to the shore.

She pushed him away, batting at his chest with her hands. 

“Dont you see?” She exclaimed. “You are worth my time John Marston. You’re worth every second. Maybe it’s not smart o’ me to be wading in to rushin’ water knowin’ I can’t swim but if it’s to stop you from doin’ something dumb I will!” She cried, pushing him away hard with both hands against the chest as they reached the rocky shore. He stumbled, falling backwards on to his ass and staring up at her as she crossed her arms. She hadn’t said she loved him, but she at least didn’t want him to die. That was a start.

Abigail bent down to his level, a hand coming out to clasp one of his. She looked him in the eyes for a moment, making sure he really saw her.

“I missed you, you fool.” She whispered, squeezing his hand lovingly. “Now come on.” She said very matter-of-factly, standing and pulling him up with her. He allowed himself to be led. They walked in silence back in the direction of the camp, John relishing in the feel of her soft hand firmly grounding him as he wavered, still incredibly intoxicated.

He tried to ignore the sideways glances the gang afforded him as they sidled back in to camp. Arthur must have said something to them to make Abigail come down to find him. Not to mention the fact they were both completely drenched from the waist down. He was embarrassed to say the least.

Abigail gave his hand another reassuring squeeze as she pulled him towards the fire where most of the adults where gathered and Jack was playing in the dirt. She let go of him, leaving him standing awkwardly just outside the gathering while she checked on Jack. Batting away questions about her attire she quietly asked Mrs Grimshaw if it was okay for her to watch Jack for the evening. The older woman scowled at the request but nodded all the same. Stealing a quick glance in John’s direction and quite blatantly judging him for his sorry state.

Abigail returned, taking John’s hand once more and leading him back to her tent. John didn’t question it, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Or was it whore? He wasn’t sure. He made a mental note to ask Hosea.

Entering the tent and closing the flaps, Abigail began to undress. John watched her eagerly, throat dry and she removed her wet skirt, boots and bloomers. She turned to look him over, frowning as she realised he hadn’t removed his own clothes.

“Just what do you think you’re doin’?” She asked, much less threatening while she was pant-less. John jumped, unsure if he had misread her signals. 

“Sorry!” He apologized quickly, raspy voice breaking awkwardly as his drunk brain tried to make sense of the situation he was in. He made to leave to give her privacy before she stopped him.

“Get your pants off!” She ordered, pointing. “You’re drenching up my tent. Get them off. Now!” She ushered, moving to help him before he could register her request and remove them himself. He nodded in acknowledgement, swallowing hard as her hands moved with his to unbutton his jeans. Of course she was more worried about river water on her bedroll than being naked with him.

She pulled down both his jeans and undergarments. Helping him slip off his boots and piling them all together with her things. She lifted a tent flap and dropped them outside with a wet slap. He supposed she would wash them later and he was grateful. Having not worn clean clothes in a long time. She straightened herself, turning to face him before moving closer, her hands setting themselves on either side of his pant-less waist. She slid them down slowly so they rested on his hips and he inhaled sharply, cock twitching at the implication.

He watched as her eyes slowly roamed down, the corner of her mouth flicking upwards in to a smirk as she eyed his rock hard cock with amusement. She had barely touched him but he was ready for her as always. Classic John, touch starved and over eager. It never took him long to get hard. He was exactly the type to fall for a prostitute. She pondered as she pressed forwards, letting his wet knob touch her belly and slide upwards against her corset to end crushed between them.

He stared in to her eyes, her face somewhat blurred from the drink but the sparkle of her eyes kept him where he needed to be. She smiled up at him, making him feel warm for the first time since he had returned home. He’d spent one too many freezing nights outside on the grass at this point and he was pushed to breaking by the cold remarks his loved ones kept making about his departure. He honestly did feel as though no one had been happy to see him. Least of all Abigail. But the way she was looking at him now, reminiscent of the way she used to stare at him before he went, left him feeling safe for the first time in a long while. He was grateful for that. For her pulling him out of the river even if ultimately she was just humouring him for the sake of calming her own guilt.

Her eyes flicked down between them quickly, making his heart flutter. Her hands began to move, sliding slowly down as she herself slunk down on to her knees. John watched her go, shaking his head slowly as she eyed his manhood hungrily.

“No...” He said softly, hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. “Don’t... You don’t have to.” He whispered, other hand tugging on her shirt and encouraging her to stand. She frowned up at him, lips inches from his dripping erection.

“What are you talkin’ bout?” She asked, taking the hand tugging on her shirt and letting him help her up.

“I ain’t need your pity.” He said quietly. “The only reason we’re here right now is you feelin’ responsible for my life.” He paused, part of him hoping she would jump in and dispute his claim. He felt his heart sink when the silence stretched between them. “I don’t want you doin’ me any favours because you’d feel responsible if somethin’ happened to me.” He finished, feeling particularly vulnerable in his current position.

Had he been fully clothed, he would have walked out to save himself the embarrassment of her pity. But he was trapped in this awkward position at her mercy.

“John.” She said simply after a moment’s contemplation. She sounded like she wanted to say more but was conflicted. Again there was a long silence between them. John swallowed audibly, cheeks reddening with every passing second. Abigail refused to look at him, arms crossed and brows furrowed as she thought.

John cleared his throat, folding his own arms before slowly descending to sit cross legged on her bedroll. Abigail sighed, unfolding her arms and moving to sit next to him. She pulled her blanket around them both to protect their modesty in this uncomfortable moment. John was grateful for that at least. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take the sight on his own waning arousal standing awkwardly in the middle of them.

“I’m not humouring you.” She said finally, breaking the long standing silence. “I would’ve done it... because I wanted to.” She whispered. “Everything I said down at the river is true... But I’m still hurt by you.” She confessed. “Why should I make an effort with you when you might just up and leave again?” She asked, frustration edging in to her tone. 

John stayed quiet, letting her vent.

“I just don’t understand you John and I ain’t sure I ever will.” She complained.

“Well, I understand you.” John said quietly. “Despite all you done to hurt me. I understand and I still love you.” He breathed.

“All I done to hurt you?” Abigail repeated loudly. “All I done for this family is what you mean.”

John frowned at her. He had no idea what she was implying.

“How exactly is whorin’ behind my back n’ breakin’ my heart for our family?” He asked, hurt coming through in his tone.

“I was tryin’ to make ends meet!” She shouted, moving to face him fully. “I was sick o’ borrowin’ money from Arthur to keep our boy clothed!” She snapped. 

John gawked at her. This was news to him. He had no idea she had ever borrowed money from anyone.

“Maybe if you pulled your weight and ran enough jobs I wouldn’t have had to go out whorin’ again.” She yelled. John clenched his jaw, his chest stabbing painfully at her remark. He had been worn and tired before he left. He felt like all he did was run jobs one after another. It wasn’t his fault the boy grew so fast. He needed new clothes every couple of months and the kind of money needed to buy them just wasn’t available to him in the life he lived. 

Of course when he ran a job with Arthur they split the profits but John was paying to feed and clothe a family of three whereas Arthur only had to worry about himself. Of course he would look better off to the untrained eye.

He sat silently, hurt beyond words by her cruel remark. He was starting to remember why he had left her in the first place. He thought back to that day. Stopping to pick her, her favourite flowers on the way home from a week long job. He had been exhausted beyond her understanding, worried he may fall off his horse for lack of sleep. But he had still stopped to pick her flowers. Because he truly loved her.

She wouldn’t have appreciated them anyway. It was a sad realization. One that made him feel weak in the knees despite his seated position.

She watched him carefully, feeling guilt bubbling inside her for her words. She knew they were false and yet she knew they would sting so she threw them out to hurt him. Hurt him like he hurt her by leaving.

John raised a hand to his face, forefinger and thumb swiping quickly at both eyes at once in an effort to stop himself succumbing to his emotions. He sniffed softly, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand and pushing his hair out of his face as he turned away from her the best he could.

“I... I did my best.” He said softly, voice thick with emotion.” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat but it was too large, his efforts leaving him out of breath as he struggled with the situation at hand.

Abigail exhaled slowly, moving so she was beside him once more she slowly wrapped her arms around his trembling shoulders. He didn’t shrug her away. Deep down he wanted her comfort, more than anything. It was all he had wanted since he rode back in to camp. 

She pulled him to her and he let himself fall, head resting against her breast as his shoulder nuzzled her stomach. She reached out to stroke his face, fingers running lightly over his cheek and then the back of his neck as he turned his face inwards.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, tightening her grip on his shoulder. “I... I didn’t mean that. I know you always did your best... riskin’ your life to keep us fed.” She sighed. “I guess... I was just too proud to tell you we needed extra money. I’ve never liked depending on you John. I always took care of myself out there... But when Jack came along I realised I couldn’t do it alone anymore... Not without hurtin’ you.” She paused again, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t want to hurt you. But either way I was gonna. I knew you was always out there doin’ your best n’ who was I to tell you that weren’t good enough?” She asked, not really expecting an answer.

“I knew we needed extra money.” John rasped, not moving from his position, not wanting to face her. “I ain’t stupid Abigail. It seems to be the runnin’ joke that I am but I ain’t. I can do math and I knew we was spendin’ more than I could bring in...” He stopped, not really knowing how to continue. He wasn’t about to tell her what she did was okay or even necessary. But he appreciated the fact that she was honest with him about why she did it. It still hurt like all hell, but at least it didn’t feel so personal anymore.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” Abigail said in reply, her voice breaking as her own emotions spilled over. John moved slightly to wrap his arms around her waist without changing his position in her lap. He wanted to comfort her back. But part of him wanted her to hurt for just a while longer. He was sure the hurt she suffered from him leaving didn’t compare at all to the hurt he felt the entire time he was gone and for the months before that he spent suspecting she didn’t really love him and trying his hardest to be the kind of person she could fall for.

They sat like that for a long while. Abigail softly crying and John holding on to his own emotions just barely. He wanted nothing more than to be able to cry freely. He felt he needed it, but this was not the time nor place. Abigail was a kind woman at heart. She would keep his secrets safe. But their relationship, whatever it may be was fragile at this moment and John realised to his dismay that he was worried about pushing her away by looking weak. 

He had been gone so long, with all the other men in the camp stepping up to take care of his family and quietly he feared, vying to take his place.

He couldn’t afford to break down. He had already pushed his luck in the river. Luckily for him he could claim drunken stupidity for that moment of weakness. But he had long since sobered up once they had started talking.

Arthur wouldn’t cry in this situation. He would man up and comfort his woman, squashing down the pain and letting it out in the form of anger at someone who didn’t deserve it. But Hosea had always said John was more sensitive than Arthur. That was not what Abigail needed, a sensitive man.

He pushed himself away from her suddenly, catching her off guard as he relinquished her comfort.

He couldn’t speak to explain it to her if he wanted to. He just stared at her questioning gaze sadly, lips trembling slightly with the effort of holding back.

“Now what?” She asked softly, wiping at her eyes as John shrugged in response. He wanted to retreat back to the river. To find a bridge high enough and throw himself off it to stop feeling the way he did in that moment.

They sat in silence for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. John played with the loose threads on the blanket over his lap as Abigail picked at the hem off her corset.

“You could move your bed in here if you like.” She offered, eyes still downcast as he turned to look at her.

“Really?” He asked hopefully, hands wringing together as she nodded silently.

“Yeah. I think it’s important that you sleep with us if we’re going to be a family.” She said softly, a small smile creeping on to her face as she looked up and met his shining eyes. He sniffed, pursing his lips and looking away again. He still wasn’t entirely sure if she was humouring him but he couldn’t bear the thought of finding out. He wiped at his eyes irately as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders once more, pulling him back to his previous position.

“I love you John Marston.” She leaned in to whisper as his head rested on her breast.

A strangled sound left him as he registered her words. A pained smile crossing his features as he began to tremble. He reluctantly pushed aside his concerns about looking weak. Not really having a say in the matter as his emotions finally got the best of him. 

He couldn’t claim drunken idiocy to explain his way out of this one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I appreciate every comment and kudos I receive so much!!
> 
> I plan to write more stories for this series. But as I'm due to have my baby on the 30th, I'm not sure I will actually ever get around to writing them. :|


End file.
